


The Bar With Many Doors

by wearerofthehat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, House M.D.
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Spoilers for A Feast For Crows, minor spoilers for House season 6-7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:50:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearerofthehat/pseuds/wearerofthehat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think that Tyrion and House are actually quite similar characters in some ways, and this thought led me to wonder how they would interact, which led to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bar With Many Doors

There is a bar of sorts that has many doors and from these many doors many people from many different worlds mingle to drink many drinks. It is quite useless for these people to ask each other where they come from, or what they do, or even what they are (those who try find that it is often quite difficult to answer these questions to people who come from a different world than they do). No, it is universally accepted among the patrons that the best question to ask each other is why they are there. That is how they get the best stories, how the barkeep has heard of the immortal Doctor who travels time in a blue box, and who is directly responsible for the destruction of his home planet and the genocide of his own species, of the Parisian police inspector who pursued the same criminal across France – across decades – only to find when he finally caught up to the criminal that (to his utter terror) he really did not want to imprison him at all. Incidentally, a dark knight who was forced to run away from Gotham’s police in ignominy when by rights they should have given him medals and a standing ovation is also said to have stopped by for a drink. 

It has become a tradition of sorts, that when this question ‘why are you here?’ is asked, the patron with the most pathetic story gets brought a drink. This tradition has turned into more of a competition, but some still have no interest in winning and only want to buy themselves a drink. And very few – that weird bird of a police inspector was one of them, the barkeep remembers – don’t want the drink either, and just the competition. 

Today, a dwarf with only half a nose (if that) sits at the bar nursing his dornish wine. His name is Tyrion Lannister, and he sits alone until a man with a gimpy leg and striking blue eyes and who is as tall as Tyrion is short plonks into the seat next to him and bought himself a drink. You may know him as Gregory House, M.D. 

“Well you certainly don’t look boring,” said the latter to the former.

“That’s a way of putting it that I have never heard before,” replied Tyrion, “They usually just say that I look short.”

“Hey, not being boring is a complement.” Says House with mock offence, “Besides, I was also referring to that nose. That is a piece of work, though the scar on my thigh is far more impressive.”

“So you want to play that game, do you? When will you people learn that I am perfectly able to buy my own drinks, and that this way other people don’t find themselves wasting their money on me and I can enjoy a drink without the inane chatter before hand?” Tyrion drawls, with just a little slur

“Hey, I haven’t even asked the question yet.

“But the one upping has already started, I see.”

“Oh come on, you like the repartee and the drink at the end. The only reason why you pretend to be metaphorically above it all is because you are so literally below everything.” It is such a ridiculous comment made in such a matter-of-fact tone that Tyrion finds himself agreeing

“All right then, I will start. Why are you here? I for one, am about three feet shorter than the average person. At least you’re tall.

“At least you have two functioning legs. I can’t walk without carrying this around,” House complains, waving his cane around in the air. Tyrion looks at the cane for a moment. That is the second time that this man has used his leg in an attempt to win a round. But then, Tyrion had seen him walk into the bar out of the corner of his eye and noted the pained set of his face and the long, fast strides. It was the walk of a restless and athletic man who hated his handicap with every fibre of his being. So Tyrion decides to pay it, and changes tack. He knows somehow that this man does not do pity, so he goes for the shock factor.

“I killed my father.” There, that should do it, he thinks. It is a line he often uses; it’s always fun watching them recoil predictably.

“Ah, good old patricide.” Says House, “So, why d’you do it?” Tyrion raises his eyebrows. A flippant answer, and he bothered to ask why. Most just take it as a confirmation for what they had already assumed by his physicality; that he is demon-spawn, destined to stab in the back everyone foolish enough to trust him. 

“I don’t think that I am drunk enough to answer that.” Now it is House’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Alright. Let’s say instead that I am actually enjoying this, and I don’t want to win this prematurely.”

“If you say so. But don’t you go thinking that you have a monopoly on daddy issues. (I never killed mine, though). He was a military man, which meant that we were practically nomads, hopping from military base to military base. By the time I was ten I had learnt fifteen languages and made absolutely no friends. He was big on discipline too, a minor infringement would have me sleeping outside, which meant that I became afraid of even looking at him sideways.”

“Ah yes, sounds familiar. Though in different ways, certainly. Mine was the most powerful man in Westeros in his day. Family pride was a really big thing for him, and I certainly didn’t measure up to what he expected a son of his to be. Sure, I wasn’t the only disappointment; my elder brother was too soft for him, and my elder sister has always been at least half mad and as if that wasn’t enough, they were fucking each other. But my mother died giving birth to me and my father loved her – more’s the pity – so I was always the scapegoat. The closest that he ever came to acknowledging me as his son was the day he told me that the only reason that he hadn’t killed me on the day I was born was because I bore his name. It must have really bothered him that of all his three children I was the one who turned out to be most like him: the ruthless tactician, the one smart and feared enough to tell even kings that they are acting like utter fools.” 

“Yeah, finding out that you are like the father you hate is a bitter pill to swallow. Mine was determined that I would grow up to be a military man, just like him. I was determined that I would never do that, and I became a doctor instead. It is only recently that I realised that I had become like him anyway. Like him, I have risen my profession to an art form, a faith almost. Like him, I am demanding and uncompromising and brutally honest. What’s really fucked up is that he isn’t even my real father, turns out that my mother got around quite a bit.”

“Ah. When did you find out?”

“What, about my dad not being my dad, or my mother being a slut?”

“The first.”

“When I was twelve.”

“Who told you?” House smirks.

“I found out by myself.” Tyrion raises his eyebrows.

“Too clever by half.”

“So I’ve been told. But you say it like you’re usually on the receiving end.” House replies.

“Oh, I am. But it’s my tongue that gets me in trouble.”

“No verbal filter.”

“None whatsoever. But then again, I am proud of my tongue. It’s gotten me out of numerous sticky situations, including the ones that it got me into in the first place… and stop looking at me like that. I did not mean it to be suggestive.” House tries to look innocent which of course has the opposite effect entirely. 

“We seem to have gotten off topic.” House says, after a pause. “Let’s cover meaningful connections (or lack thereof). That is always a fun one. You go first.”

“I don’t have meaningful connections. The most meaningful connections I can boast are with my youngest nephew and my niece who look up to me as a favourite uncle, and a stray girl imp I picked up in my travels. Sometimes people listen to me, but most either hate me, fear me and or ignore me. I have some good childhood memories of times spent with my brother but the closest person I have had to a friend was a mercenary I paid to be my bodyguard; that was the only reason that he stuck around. After a while I gave him a lordship and a wife and he went on his merry way.”

“Friends… no, actually, I guess I am pretty lucky there. I did have to pay one once, but he was just standing in for the real one. Name’s Wilson. I bailed him out of jail twenty years ago and we have been friends ever since.” House frowns, “don’t actually know why he sticks around, really.” House is just raising his glass to his mouth when he looks at the man next to him and realises that he is looking at him knowingly and House’s beer suddenly decides to go down the wrong way. “No,” House splutters, “that is certainly not why he sticks around.” 

“If you say so,” Tyrion says with false innocence, and House just knows that the other man is still smirking at him. “Let’s move on to close lady connections then. I have been married twice, the first was a tragedy, the second time was – is? Technically I’m still married, but I’m not entirely sure it’s valid – anyways, the second marriage was/is a complete farce. And there is the whore I tried having a long term relationship with; that did not go so well either, I killed her the same night I killed my father.” House refused to react more than a raised eyebrow. 

“I have tried meaningful connections with two different women on two different occasions and they both ended up betraying me, and I tried the farcical marriage thing as well.” They were both silent for a while. “I don’t think that either of us are going to get that free drink unless we go into a little more detail.”

“Yes.” Tyrion replied. And he told House about Tysha which then led to the reason why he killed his father after all, and House told of Stacy and his leg, and then about Cuddy, and both were convinced that their story was certainly the most pitiful. It was becoming quite the heated and unreasonable argument, until they were interrupted.

“House, what are you doing here?” Wilson asked as he came to stand behind them. House swivelled around to look, and then turned back towards his drinking companion.

“Damn, he’s won.”

“Come on, he doesn’t even know the game he’s stumbled into,” Tyrion replied.

“Doesn’t matter. I can tell you that he has been married – and divorced – three times and still remains quite the hopeless romantic and hasn’t managed to grow a cynical bone in his body. He takes antidepressants (happy drugs for depressed people) which has a lot to do with the fact that he spends all of his working days fighting to save people from an illness nobody knows how to cure. Aaand…He has had to bear with me for the last twenty years. In fact, I’m his best friend.” 

Tyrion thought about it for a moment, and then acquiesced to splitting the bill with House for Wilson’s drink. It was not the sort of game you wanted to win anyway, to be honest. Especially if you could buy your own drinks. 

On his part, for a moment Wilson looked like he was going to object to having his life picked apart and found wanting, but then he decided not to. After all it was not as if he wasn’t used to it from House, and a free drink was very hard to object to.


End file.
